


Golden Heart

by imachar



Series: The Weight of a Man [8]
Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, BDSM, M/M, Rough Sex, Sex Toys, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-02
Updated: 2011-08-02
Packaged: 2017-10-22 03:37:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/233319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imachar/pseuds/imachar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post Yorktown, Chris aims to fix things with a grand gesture.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Golden Heart

**Author's Note:**

> Much more serious BDSM in this one.
> 
> Beta'd by skyblue_reverie and zauzat

When he writes up three different cadets for inappropriate language – something he wouldn’t normally notice, much less care about - before the end of classes on the last Friday of the month, Chris realizes that his perpetually vexed demeanor might just be starting to affect the rest of the world. It’s late October, he’s been dirtside for six months and he still hasn’t settled into life without a starship to command. He’s restless and bored and thoroughly pissed off with the political maneuvering that is a fact of life both at Command and in the Academy.

Very aware of his own slightly tenuous political position, he’s been edgy as hell since the start of the new term. As XO of the recruiting office he’s only teaching one class, Advanced History of Military Tactics, which he taught on his last command break ten years ago, so he doesn’t even have pressure of work to distract him from the fact that, while Barnett seems genuinely sincere in his offer of the _Enterprise_ at the end of this five-year term in purgatory, it’s by no means a done deal yet. Even with his advanced position on the Captains’ List he could be side-lined by someone on the General Staff with a grudge – Jessop comes to mind all too easily – or leap-frogged by a rising star with friends in the right places.

To make matters so much worse, Phil is making himself scarce, spending much of the last few months on the road at conferences and research symposia. His frequent absences are heightening Chris’ anxiety, making him wonder if the separations are just a prelude to the breakdown of a relationship that has become distant and strained in the wake of the anger and mistrust that accompanied their departure from the _Yorktown_. They are over the outright hostility of the early summer, but despite Chris’ peace-offering visit to Rome, there’s still an all too frequent tension in their interaction. What little time they spend together is chilled with an uncomfortable mix of sarcasm, wariness and passive-aggressive silence that has Chris afraid that they are slowly drifting apart. Even sex has regained the hard edge of their earlier years, with an urgency and occasional lack of care that speaks of fucking rather than the more mellow passion that they’d managed to mature into on the _Yorktown_.

And that’s how Chris finds himself late Friday night, sitting on the rug in front of his closet rubbing his fingers lightly over a flat leather box that’s a little smaller than his PADD. For a long moment he runs his thumb across the clasp at the front of the box and then flicks it free and pushes the lid open just enough to slip his thumb inside, rubbing it across the two centimeter strip of finely made leather. He’s been thinking about this for weeks, about how to restore the trust that seems to be almost irretrievably lost between them. Despite all his uncertainty about his professional future, Chris knows that _this_ is really what is driving his ill-tempered unease and until they fix it he’s going to be tense and sarcastic and angry, and a complete bastard to work and live with. For his own peace of mind he has to find a way to get back to that place where they trust each other and where he trusts himself, wholly, unreservedly, without question.

He honestly has no idea if this offering of trust and fidelity is what they need right now but he’s out of ideas. Desperate for some way of breaking the deadlock, he finds himself grasping at the one thing that he hopes will get Phil’s attention, a physical expression of contrition, a real and tangible demonstration of his faith in a relationship that has defined so much of his adult life.

Certainly, words aren’t doing it; neither of them is the greatest communicator when it comes to what they’re feeling, and it doesn’t seem to matter how often they try to talk through the problem at the core of their rift – does Chris trust Phil to have his best interests at heart, and can Phil ever again trust that Chris won’t rip them apart with anger if Phil’s forced to do something that threatens Chris’ captaincy - there’s still a deep well of skepticism in both of them. It’s taken months for Chris to figure out that it’s going to take something much more decisive than talk to settle the issue and he suspects that while Phil probably figured the same thing out a long time ago, in his own quiet way he’s waiting for Chris to make the offer. At least Chris hopes so, if Phil is already at least half way on board with what he has planned then the evening will go a lot more smoothly.

Still his heart rate ticks up just a fraction when the sound of the water fades in the bathroom, and he pulls himself to his feet and pads barefoot across the room to the dresser. There’s another box there, this one much more familiar, although it too hasn’t been seen since the move from the _Yorktown_. Square and solid, made of redwood recycled from a cabin in the Sierras, decorated with nothing more than their initials, the box has been with them for almost a decade. Fashioned by Phil as a gift for their first Christmas together and presented, complete with contents, on the brief shore leave that had preceded a holiday that would be spent patrolling the Klingon border.

It’s not locked and it opens with a faint click as Chris slides the catch release free – everything is exactly as they left it seven, maybe eight months ago and, despite his nervousness, for just a moment he relaxes into the warm flush of arousal that is generated by the promise contained in the velvet lined interior. He knows that the moment of truth will come when Phil sees the box open on the dresser. They’d agreed never to play this game when they were angry at each other, afraid that the anger might taint an act that has always been a sweet relief for both of them. So Chris is justifiably nervous; if there isn’t outright anger simmering under the surface of their guarded and stressed connection right now, he knows that there’s a world of hurt and resentment and frustration. But he also knows that he has to try. Their rules have always been open to change and have evolved over the years and Chris can only hope that Phil will understand and be willing to bend with him on this. Still, he knows that if Phil is in any way unsure of himself, or of Chris, then he’ll simply shut the box and refuse to play. And that’s exactly why it’s taken Chris three weeks to work up the courage to try this; if he’s wrong, if Phil isn’t ready for this, then that simple gesture of refusal could break them – because he has no idea where to go from here if this doesn’t work.

A thump from the bathroom, the sound of the medicine cabinet door, reminds Chris that his time is short. With a deep breath to steel himself he lays the second box on the dresser surface and then walks to the side of the bed and lowers himself a little gingerly on to the rug, his bad knee protesting the 10K run from earlier in the day. The pain generates a rueful smile, both at the thought that he’s sometimes a little less graceful at this than he used to be, and at the knowledge that whatever happens tonight the twinge in his knee is going to be the least of his problems for a while.

He’s a little surprised at the sudden calm that overtakes him as he settles onto the rug, the familiarity and comfort of beginning this ritual at odds with the anxiety that’s making his hands shake and his heart beat just a little too fast. He takes a deep breath to steady himself and shifts into a more comfortable position, his knees spread to alleviate a little of the pressure that his already interested cock is putting on the fly of his jeans. He had considered stripping entirely, but that would be a little too manipulative even for him. Faced with a naked Chris, Phil might be swayed into something he’d regret later, and that’s the last thing Chris wants, although right now he’s tempted to do almost anything to sway the outcome in his favor. Instead he just shakes a little more of the tension out of his shoulders, clasps his hands behind his back and bows his head and decides that maybe a little manipulation isn’t totally out of line.

A sharp intake of breath and quietly muttered curse herald Phil’s otherwise silent exit from the bathroom and Chris just takes a deep breath and focuses on a patch of floor just in front of the rug he’s kneeling on until Phil’s bare feet come into his line of sight.

“Jesus, Chris, have you any fucking idea what you look like?”

Working very hard to remain calm Chris just flexes his shoulders again; actually he has a pretty damn good idea of exactly what he looks like right now. He’s only a couple of years the right side of fifty and whatever other insecurities he might be harboring, what he looks like is not one of them. He knows that he’s long and lean and powerful and when you add submissive to that list, pretty damn near irresistible, at least for Phil. Long fingers card gently through his hair and Chris resists the urge to look up, giving Phil the space he needs to make his decision without trying any further manipulation.

“You really want to play this game tonight?”

“It’s time, Phil, it’s past time.” Phil’s standing close enough that Chris can lean into him, rubbing his head lightly against Phil’s flank, reveling in the feel of smooth, slightly damp skin against his cheek, and breathing in the clean woody musk of aroused and just-showered Phil. It makes Chris catch his breath for a moment, the enormity of the thought that he might be very close to losing this - for all the stress and tension between them he loves Phil deeply, loves what they’ve had together for the last ten years and the thought of losing him leaves a tightness in his chest that makes it hard to breathe. The hand that’s resting on his head slides down the back of his neck and Phil squeezes a taut shoulder once, firmly as if he’s made a decision.

“Don’t move until I tell you different.” And in those few seconds the tone of Phil’s voice has changed completely, curiosity and uncertainty turned to dark authority and command, with just a hint of anger buried deep beneath the surface.

The silence is uneasy and a little oppressive as Chris waits while Phil chooses what he wants from the wooden box and listens for the barely audible footfalls as he walks back to the bed. After a moment there’s a quiet rustle as Phil pulls off the quilt and top sheet and then, after a brief pause when Chris hears the cedar chest at the end of the bed open and close, the mattress shifts as Phil lays down a fresh towel and then sits on the edge of the bed.

“I don’t know what kind of game you’re playing here Chris, but you better fucking know what you’re doing.” There’s a rough edge to Phil’s voice that’s at odds with his touch as he reaches out to stroke the slightly untidy curls off Chris’ forehead, thumb gentle across the arch of his eyebrows.

“Can I look at you?” Chris needs to see his face, needs to know that this is really okay.

“No.” Proving once again that Phil can be just as much of a manipulative bastard as Chris, who just takes a deep breath and takes what reassurance he can from the warmth of Phil’s hand that’s resting once more on his head. After a brief pause he feels the brush of fingers against the pulse in his neck - Phil testing the level of Chris’ unease before he sighs quietly and withdraws his hand and Chris hears the quiet snick of the clasp on the box as Phil opens it.

“Fuck, Chris…” There’s a long moment of silence after Phil’s one slightly overwhelmed breath and Chris is tense as a bow-string as he waits for Phil to continue. But the silence is broken only by the slightly ragged whisper of Phil’s breathing as he curls his fingers into Chris’ hair stroking for a moment before he tightens his grip and tugs hard enough to pull Chris’ head up sharply. There’s a raw, heartfelt need in Phil’s expression and Chris feels the slightest spark of hope that this might just work. But it takes only seconds for Phil to collect himself, his face smoothing out, only the slightly too-sharp eyes betraying anything of what he’s feeling as he holds Chris’ gaze and they share a moment of unfeigned honesty.

“Why do you want this?”

The question isn’t unexpected; Chris knows that there is no way Phil is going to let this happen without trying to get at the heart of it first, and he has thought very carefully about his response, trying to make certain that the answer is as close to the truth as he can make it, and not just what he thinks Phil wants to hear.

“I want this because you own me. You’ve owned me since that first weekend. I know it, and now I need you to know it – and maybe, just maybe if you believe that, then you’ll believe that I trust you again.” He pauses, head cocked to one side and smiles ruefully. “And maybe I’ll believe that I trust you again too.” And, although he doesn’t say it, afraid that Phil will back away from the responsibility, maybe, if this gamble works, he’ll believe that he trusts himself again.

He can feel Phil’s hesitation; can see it as his hands, normally so sure and confident, shake just a little as he runs the leather between his fingers. The collar is narrow, a dress collar rather than one made for more serious restraint, although this one could do the job just fine with the metal D-ring that is attached in the middle of the leather strip. But rather than a chain, the only thing attached to the D-ring is a small lozenge shaped plaque. It’s about the size of an old-fashioned military dog-tag, but it’s silver rather than base metal and engraved with a simple PJB and Chris knows he’s won at least the chance of this as Phil rubs the metal gently between his fingers and makes no attempt to hide the genuine yearning on his face and the slightly rough edge to Phil’s voice betrays just how deeply he’s moved by Chris’ gesture.

Still stroking the leather gently Phil sighs and leans so that his forehead is resting against Chris’ “Damn Chris, you really know how to work me, don’t you?”

“Not working you Phil, I’ve never meant anything more in my life – I want this – and I’ll beg if you want…but I think you want it too.” As sure as he is about this, Chris’ voice isn’t as steady as he might like and he knows they’re both struggling.

“No.” Phil brushes his mouth over Chris’ forehead. “No begging, not over this. But a collar’s a hell of a commitment and I won’t pretend I’m not uneasy about it.”

Phil pushes Chris away and slides a hand up his throat until his thumb and forefinger are gripped tight on Chris’ chin, forcing him to meet Phil’s cool, steady ice-blue gaze. “You need to understand, Chris, it’s not some magic bullet that’ll fix us, and it sure as hell won’t fix whatever fucking mid-life crisis you seem to be engaged in. It’s not going to stop you from wanting a ship _now_ ; it’s not going to stop you from looking at those cadets of yours and remembering what it was like to be that age and have everything still ahead of you; it‘s not even going to stop you from wanting to fuck one of them now and then.”

That’s just a step too far, Chris is willing to take the other charges, they are all true enough – but he’s never strayed and he’s never even thought of it with a cadet. Even if sleeping with cadets wasn’t an ethical and moral nightmare he’s simply not attracted to twenty-year-olds. He pulls his head away sharply, anger flashing through him for just a second until Phil’s hand snaps out and wraps around the back of his neck, holding him in place.

“I’m sorry, that was uncalled-for.” There’s a mix of contrition and fear in Phil’s eyes and it damps Chris’ anger as he realizes that they’re both terrified that this is going to degenerate into one of their all too frequent arguments unless they stop it right now.

“Yes, it was, but…” Chris has stopped resisting the draw of Phil’s hand and he ends up with his chin resting on Phil’s knee, looking up at him steadily. “…I haven’t given you any reason to not to think it.”

“No you haven’t, you haven’t given me _anything_ in the last few months. But if you want to try this, if you’re sure this is what you want - I do trust you.” Phil curls his hand a little tighter around Chris’ nape, squeezing hard before he continues. “But understand, if we try to work it out this way it’s going to get rough.”

And before Chris can say anything further Phil reinforces the point, pulling him into a kiss that starts sweet and quickly turns fierce and demanding as Chris surrenders to the force of nature that is a possessive Phil. Chris moans as Phil’s fingers tighten further on the back of his neck, letting the need to submit wash over him at the feel of Phil’s mouth, eager and insistent and aggressive. When he finally pulls back with a fierce little nip at Chris’ lower lip, Phil slides his hand around to wrap it fully around Chris’s throat and tilts his head up so that they are eye-to-eye once more.

“Ready for this?”

“You have no idea.” Chris flexes his neck slightly as Phil finally releases his hold on him and then just waits, forcing himself to be patient as Phil takes a breath and lifts the collar, still sliding it slightly reverently through his fingers.

“Once I lock it you’re mine - and I will take what I want from you – if it’s too much, you know what to do.”

Chris just nods once and takes a hard breath to steady himself - for all his outward calm, he’s afraid on so many levels right now that it's all he can do to stay still and keep breathing steadily. This could go wrong in so many ways, and yet, fear notwithstanding, he’s hard as a rock, arousal vibrating through him each time his pulse forces his cock to rub against the fabric of his jeans. For all that he’s afraid, of what Phil’s going to exact as a price for his behavior over the last few months, of whether this will gain them back the trust they so desperately need, of his own motivations for wanting to be owned this completely – he wants it far more than he fears it.

Hands still shaking just slightly, Phil wraps the collar around Chris’ throat and slides the smoothly rounded tongues over each other, lining up the holes so that the leather fits snug and comfortable around Chris’ neck. By the time Phil slips the shank of the small silver padlock through the twin holes and snicks it shut, palming the key and sliding it away somewhere out of Chris’ sight, they’re both breathing hard and Chris can feel his cock pressing uncomfortably tightly against his fly. The evidence of Phil’s arousal is much more obvious, his erection flushed and full against his belly and Chris has to resist the urge to lean in and taste it – now that he’s wearing the collar, that kind of initiative is no longer his prerogative and the thought is both terrifying and profoundly arousing.

Phil tugs hard on Chris’ hair, forcing him to move even as he orders. “Strip and then up on the bed – hands and knees – arms out.” His voice is a low, silky growl and it sends a charge directly down Chris’s spine – he hasn’t heard this tone in a long time and as he moves to obey Phil’s command, his jeans hitting the floor with remarkable speed, he’s just a little surprised at his own eagerness – he’s missed this so very much.

Chris settles comfortably onto the mattress, working hard to suppress his apprehension as he leans forward on his elbows, forearms stretched out and wrists together as he waits for Phil to wrap the leather cuffs around them. The collar is just tight enough that he feels the slight constriction every time he swallows, a constant reminder of his obedience, of his relinquished control and the symbolism of it, the reality of it, makes his cock jump, the feel of pre-come cool on his flesh as it leaks slowly down the length of his shaft.

The mattress sinks and shifts as Phil leans over, whispering as he does. “You know you’re going to pay for all the shit you’ve put us through?” and his voice is a silky threat as he goes on. “Going to fuck you so hard tonight, so hard you’re not gonna be able to walk for a week.”

Shivering with tension at the promise of the punishment to come, Chris unwinds a little further, he understands that he’s got no control over what happens next, understands that the sooner he relaxes into it and lets go, the easier it will be and the better it will feel. But he’s not quite there yet.

He has to fight the urge to turn his head to see what Phil has laid out on the bed beside them, to get some advance warning of whatever he has planned for tonight. Instead he breathes deeply, lets go of a little more control and revels in the feel of Phil’s hands, warm and strong as they trace a steady line down the broad muscles of his back. The strokes are firm and even, the relaxing warmth of the touch at odds with the edge of fear and anticipation that’s making Chris shiver every time Phil reaches the broad dip above his coccyx – twice, thrice and then once more – and only then do the hands leave his flesh and Chris draws a breath, anticipating the sharp sting of the first blow.

“Waiting for something?” Phil’s voice is dark and silky and low enough to make the hair stand up on the back of Chris’ neck as he arches slightly, his body craving the touch that is going to make him ache and burn and eventually come so hard he sees stars.

“Please, please just do it, start it, please.” He’s still not so submerged in his own headspace that he can’t ask for what he wants, but Chris knows better than to even think about demanding it, his request couched in a quiet, deferential plea, that manages to convey all of his yearning for their future. But Phil still makes him wait just a moment or two longer, time stretching almost unbearably in a silence that’s leavened only by the sound of their breathing – Phil’s slow and even and utterly controlled, Chris’ just a little less so – hitching slightly in anticipation. And then the silence is split with a sharp crack and Chris starts and pulls hard on the plaited leather cord that attaches the cuffs to the headboard.

 _Fuck_ it hurts, he’d forgotten just how expertly Phil could wield his hand and for a fraction of a second Chris wonders if this was a mistake, and then the second strike lands, overlapping the first just slightly and Chris trembles as he feels the shock through his entire body, his cock suddenly achingly heavy, balls swinging slightly as his body rocks forward with the force of the blow. A third strike and then a fourth and a fifth, and he’s shivering and breathing hard, the quiet whisper of Phil’s voice easing the way as the endorphin rush begins to build.

“Do you have any idea what you’ve been doing to us, Chris?” Phil is really, really good at this, his hand descending in an overlapping pattern that begins to burn across Chris’ skin.

“Do you have any idea what you’ve cost us? How many times I’ve wanted to walk out that door and say, “Fuck it, I’m not coming back”? Do you know what it’s like to come home after you’ve watched some kid bleed out in surgery only to have you pissed off and sullen – not even caring that I’m there? You haven’t asked once this month how I am. You know, it’s easier just to be away from you. But being apart like this is killing us.”

Chris shivers and bites his lip hard at the hurt in Phil’s voice and he knows the only answer Phil is looking for is his submission, his willingness to take the hard, stinging blows without flinching and he settles a little more onto the mattress and groans as each strike rocks him forward and sends fire spreading across his skin.

After a long ten minutes of this exquisite punishment Phil finally pulls back and Chris flinches as that hard right hand rubs gently across the burning curve of his ass. He doesn’t even wonder what the other hand is doing until he feels the unmistakable pressure of something cool and slick with lube, pressing up against his asshole, and then he whimpers.

Oh fuck, he has no idea what this is. It doesn’t feel at all familiar, smoother and more flared than anything they’ve accumulated in their toy box over the last decade. And, oh fuck, it’s bigger too – thicker, and perhaps longer, although Chris can’t really judge the length yet, but it’s forcing him open with an inevitability that suggests this is going to go really, really deep. The uncertainty of it brings Chris’ heart rate up again, fear edging along his nerves as Phil’s voice, silky smooth and threatening brushes against his ear.

“Take it Chris, take all of it…I know it’s big – but it’s going to feel so good when it’s in.”

A nip to his ear lobe makes Chris buck back against the invading object and he can’t hold in a whimper of pain as he’s stretched just a little too fast. But Phil is merciless, stroking the well-slicked shaft into Chris in a single, slow slide until he surrenders to the inevitable, biting down hard on his forearm to try to muffle the groan of _pleasurepain_ as he relaxes into the burn of penetration without prep.

“Oh fuck you are so damn tight – stretched so damn far around that thing.” The feel of Phil’s thumb rubbing firmly over the tightly distended muscle ratchets up the pain until Chris winces but it’s the sound of that voice, rough and low and edged with a fierce authority that makes him sway slightly and whimper as he tries to stop himself from sinking down to thrust his aching cock against the mattress.

“Damn Chris, so tight, you think I could slide in there along side it? Think you could stretch that far…hmm?” Apparently, Phil’s normal verbal reticence during sex has abandoned him tonight and Chris tries not to flinch away as a slick finger presses just a little harder against his sphincter.

If he could articulate an answer it would be “…no, _hell no_ …”, although there is some deeply masochistic part of Chris that wonders if he might not want to try it some time, but verbalizing anything is long beyond him at this point and he just shudders and recoils a little from Phil’s touch.

A hand grips his hip firmly, holding him in place. “No, you don’t get that choice, you’re mine, you take whatever I give you tonight.” Phil is breathing hard against the back of Chris’ neck as he twists the shaft a little deeper and then, as if he’d planned it, and it’s entirely possible that the bastard did, Phil bites down hard on Chris' shoulder as the shaft begins to thrum inside him. Whatever the hell it is, it sets up a long, sweet undulation that pulses through Chris’ tightly stretched passage until it burns across his prostate and he can’t hold back the surprised howl of pleasure.

And then the pain rolls back in as Phil bites again and whispers. “Mine…” before licking along the edge of the collar. “Fuck, this is so hot – do you know what it’s like to look at you and know that I own you?” Phil runs his hand up a flexed bicep, over Chris’ shoulder and around his throat until he can slide his fingers around the silver plaque, tugging it gently.

“You are so perfect Chris, so good at this, so good at giving it up to me.” He strokes his fingers along the smooth, hand-rolled edge of the collar. “My boy, my gorgeous, obedient boy.” Phil pulls back, drawing his fingers down the sweaty curve of Chris’ spine.

Chris is shaking as he feels the heat of Phil’s body withdraw and then flinches as Phil slides his hand over the hyper-sensitive skin of Chris’ warmed ass again and then he groans as Phil reaches around to stroke a hand roughly over his weeping cock. “Can’t come until I’m in you Chris. Not until I’m buried deep and fucking you hard.”

There’s a brief pause as Chris feels Phil reach for something and then he arches into the touch of leather on his skin. It’s soft and supple for all that it hasn’t been used in a while, and Chris doesn’t even try to restrain the whimper of anticipation when he recognizes the feel of the 6cm-wide strap on his skin as Phil lets the tails drag gently across his inflamed ass. Chris has no idea where the tawse came from, it had been one of Phil’s contributions to their toy-store, but he had quickly come to love the feel of the meter-long strip of leather, with its three finger-wide tails - it stings and marks less than the cane, and he can tolerate the slow burn it generates for far longer.

Once again the first strike takes Chris by surprise, but this time he relaxes into the sensation very quickly. The stroke is timed just a second off the pulse of the thrumming shaft in Chris’ ass and the counter-point of pain then pleasure is exquisite as Chris begins to sink into that space where there is nothing but the sound of Phil’s voice, the sure warmth of his touch and the utter certainty that he is loved, and cherished and totally owned. And he’s more certain than ever that this is what they need to get back into that comfortable space that they inhabited for so long on the _Yorktown_ – this give and take of pain and pleasure and possession that binds them irretrievably together.

After countless minutes, the rhythm of the stroke changes, slowly shifting so that it overlaps the pulse, transforming the two separate sensations into a single unbelievably intense feeling that burns through Chris, stealing his breath each time it peaks and giving him only a moment to recover before it crests again.

“Don’t hold back on me Chris, I l know what this must be doing to you, I know what you sound like when you let go, and you’re not there yet – let it go.” It’s not a suggestion, the command in Phil’s voice is irresistible, he’s pushing hard tonight, taking Chris closer to the edge than he usually does, marking him more fiercely and more liberally than he would normally, coming very close to drawing blood, his behavior bleeding possession and control.

Chris shivers as the sensations begin to overwhelm him, pain and pleasure and the unrelenting possession in Phil’s voice, all working to push him to the edge of what he can stand until the unmistakable slick wet sound of lube being applied to taut flesh sends a fresh spasm of lust firing across his nerves. His breath hitches as Phil finally withdraws the still thrumming shaft and he bites his lip for a second to contain the whine at the achingly empty feel. The unexpected slap radiates heat across his already abused flesh and he doesn’t make any attempt to hold back the quiet grunt of pain.

“Better – I said, don’t hold back on me, I want to hear you.” Phil nips hard at the skin at Chris’ nape, just above the collar, licking across the wound before he pulls in the slack on the leather straps so that Chris is forced to stretch his arms out full length, his head down, shoulders pulled together and low on the bed. The position leaves him incredibly vulnerable and Chris shivers again as Phil lines himself up and pushes forward, thick cock pressing inexorably into Chris’ slick, stretched entrance, and then he’s flinching and whining as Phil bottoms out and his wiry curls brush up against the agonizingly sensitive skin of his ass.

It takes Chris a long moment to catch his breath and then, just as it settles, Phil pulls out and shoves forward again hard, setting up a punishing rhythm and the power behind the thrusts has Chris panting hard, breath coming in rapid sobbing gasps until the pace slows as Phil begins to pant a little himself.

“Damn, you are so fucking hot Chris, so fucking irresistible.” Phil’s fingers are digging into his hips, and Chris knows there will be bruises in the morning and he can’t quite contain a flinch as Phil leans over to suck a brutal mark into the flesh of his shoulder. He shudders as Phil twists his hips slightly and the next long, slow thrust strokes directly over Chris’ prostate and he lets out a long, slightly muffled, whimper. The ache is almost unbearable, the need to come consuming him, the brush of heated, sweat damp skin surrounding him, firing every nerve as Phil fucks so slowly into him.

“You can come anytime now Chris - as long as I’m in you - you wait till I’m done and you don’t get to come.” Even the soft touch of Phil’s breath as he leans into whisper against Chris’ nape is torture, not least because Chris _can’t_ come like this, at least not easily. It’s always been hard for him to come without contact, even the friction of a sheet, or – and he loves to come this way – the firm press of Phil’s lightly furred belly against his flesh is enough to bring him off. But not like this, his cock hanging heavy, untouched and neglected as it bobs gently above the bed. He bites his lip hard and then whispers, almost too softly to be heard. “Please.” And is unspeakably grateful that Phil knows exactly what he’s asking for as he leans in to growl – his voice a steel whip in the humid stillness.

“Now – come for me _now_ , Chris.” And Chris does, the command sparking along his nerves until he comes in a single arching spasm that sends a geyser of semen so far across the towel that when he rests his forehead on the mattress, shaking and spent, he feels the wet heat against his lips, the bitter scent-taste of his own come sending a weak aftershock trembling through his exhausted body. Barely aware of anything beyond his own euphoric exhaustion Chris lets the physical and emotional relief roll through him in waves - confident now that they’re slowly finding their way back together.

When he finally does come back to himself he can feel the body that’s still in him and above him quivering as Phil controls his own orgasm and he shivers at the thought that this isn’t anywhere close to over yet. It appears that Phil’s comment about fucking Chris until he can’t walk for a week wasn’t an empty promise. But at least he’s getting a momentary rest, as Phil pauses, still buried balls deep and takes a long moment to taste the back of Chris’ neck, resting his mouth against the hammering pulse and sliding one hand up to curl into Chris’ hair, tilting his head to give him a little better purchase as the kiss turns into a deep suckle, with just a hint of teeth, and then they both shudder as Phil goes back to tracing the lower edge of the collar with his tongue.

Time seems to stretch as Phil picks up the pace again, snapping his hips in a fast, relentless rhythm until Chris is dazed and aching and he can feel the sweat running down his spine, pooling in the hollow between his shoulder blades and dripping off his flanks. Panting hard, lost in the heat and scent and sound of the man above him Chris just leans his forehead on the mattress, and gives himself up to the overwhelming sensation of being fucked, hard. With his own orgasm taken care of there’s nothing to distract Chris from the punishing rhythm that has gone beyond mildly uncomfortable to the edge of genuine pain. But he can’t bring himself to care, there is something so exquisite about surrendering himself to Phil’s use, to being nothing more than a vessel for his pleasure and he makes no attempt to restrain the groans and whimpers of pain. All that matters right now is that they are dancing along that knife-edge between pain and pleasure, creating a bond that is sealed with sweat and spit and semen and above all, with trust.

Chris is achingly sore by the time Phil finally succumbs to an almost silent, shuddering climax and he barely notices as he’s borne down to the mattress by the weight of the body that collapses on top of him. The harsh whisper of Phil’s breath against his neck, intercut with just the occasional possessive murmur anchors him in the moment and Chris could almost weep with relief as he hears the soft voice against his ear.

“My beautiful boy, love you so much.”

It’s a good five minutes before either of them moves, and Chris sighs as Phil rolls to the side and pushes himself up on one elbow.

“Fuck…” gentle fingers cup the back of Chris’ head and Phil leans in to ask “You okay?” before Chris feels the fastenings on the cuffs released and he tries to flex his biceps and shoulders. Phil rubs hard across the stretched and tender muscles and Chris just groans slightly, not quite capable of speech yet, but he reaches out and wraps a hand around Phil’s wrist, squeezing a reassurance.

It’s not until Phil hands him a bottle of water from the night stand that he’s able to speak, although anything beyond the most careful movement is still beyond him and Chris just lets Phil stroke a little of the soreness out of his muscles.

“I’m fine, more than fine.” He turns his head cautiously until he can look directly into Phil’s face and what he sees there, some intoxicating combination of awe, and love and ownership makes his breath catch in his chest. He stretches up and Phil meets him half way, leaning in to a sweet, lingering kiss that seals the unspoken promise that they’ve just renewed.

“I want it to stay on.” Chris reaches up to wrap a hand around his throat as Phil stretches for the key to the collar.

“No you don’t, not right now, just let me take care of you. You keep this on and you won't even be able to take a piss without my permission tonight.” Phil unsnaps the padlock and slides the collar off gently, kissing the sweaty skin that had been hidden under the leather. “Later, some night, some weekend, if you want we can play that game – but not now.”

****

It takes another fifteen minutes for them to make it to the shower.

“Damn, Chris you were planning on using your safe word if I went too far - right?” Chris is leaning up against the wall of the shower stall as Phil slides a washcloth through the warm water that’s cascading over his back and he’s pretty sure the slight pause before he answers is a dead giveaway that his answer might not be quite the entire truth.

“Yeah - but you didn’t.” Although the very slight flinch as Phil brushes his fingers across a particularly lurid bite mark belies the second part of the statement.

“Came damn close.”

“Nah…I can handle a lot more pain than that.”

“How much pain you can handle is not the point Chris. Christ, you once spent three days nailed to a bulkhead on a Klingon freighter. It’s not very reassuring to know I didn’t hurt you if _that’s_ your baseline.”

Chris turns in the shower and, careful not to lean his back or his ass against the wall, pulls Phil close, one hand curled around the back of his neck, resting their foreheads together, gray-blue eyes narrowing as he smiles and runs his thumb gently along the hinge of Phil’s jaw.

“Phil, you did nothing I didn’t want, you did nothing that didn’t feel good at the time – and if it smarts a little right now, well you can fix that in fifteen minutes with the portable regenerator.” Tugging gently, they ease into a long, sweet kiss - a lush, loving, tender embrace that totally reinforces everything they’ve done in the last hour.

When Chris finally disengages, he leans his forehead against Phil’s again and gives that sweet, half smile that he  
knows Phil loves so much.

“What we got back is more than worth a little discomfort, don’tcha think?”

“Hell yeah..” Phil runs his fingertips lightly over the place where the collar had rested around Chris’ throat. “You good with this?”

“Oh yeah…I think we can keep it.” And Chris leans in close and rests his chin on Phil’s shoulder, letting himself be drawn into a firm, if slightly careful embrace, relishing the feel of Phil’s hand stroking gently up his nape and into his hair. They’re both silent for a long moment, letting the warm water soothe away the last of the tension between them, and then Phil whispers with a smile.

“I believe you, by the way.”

“Hmm?” Chris is still a little dazed, and Phil’s comment is a total non-sequitur, so it takes him a long moment to figure out that Phil’s referring to their earlier conversation about trust. And he takes a long, slightly unsteady breath that’s so full of relief that he almost loses it for a moment.

“I fucking love you; you know that, don’t you?”

“Yeah…well, loving each other’s never been our problem.”

Chris laughs at that and buries his face in the curve of Phil’s neck. “No, being stubborn, willful SOBs is our problem.”

Phil pulls Chris’ head back up and he’s smiling, that rare, amazing sweet expression that makes Chris’s chest tighten. “Well, hell maybe we can take some time to work on that.”

“Yeah, I think maybe we should.” And Chris relaxes fully against the solid, warm body and lets Phil finish taking care of him.


End file.
